Praise for Isabelle Goddard:

      ‘Isabelle Goddard’s writing is sharp and crisp, her period detail evocative and authentic, her pacing zesty and her characters nuanced and believable. In THE EARL PLAYS WITH FIRE she has penned a wonderfully compelling tale peppered with action, intrigue, passion and adventure which readers will be unable to put down. I adored Richard and Christabel’s story, and I was completely captivated by their dramatic, tempestuous and moving love story.’

       —Cataromance on THE EARL PLAYS WITH FIRE

      ‘An enchanting, compelling and highly romantic read … Isabelle Goddard has written an outstanding debut novel that sparkles with first-rate characterisation, vivid period detail, heart-pounding adventure and tender romance.’

       —Pink Heart Review on REPROBATE LORD, RUNAWAY LADY

       ‘Now, I should put you on my horse and walk you home.’

      Jack’s voice was hardly his own.

      ‘But …?’

      ‘But instead I must kiss you. I can do nothing else.’

      His hand tipped her chin upwards and in an instant his mouth had found hers. Lucinda opened to him, her lips knowing exactly what to do. His kiss this time was immediately possessive, hard and intense; he was claiming her for his own.

      The sound of a coach being driven fast along the nearby road burst upon them. Her lips were released.

      ‘That should not have happened.’

      ‘I have heard those words before, I think.’ Her mouth curved to a sensuous smile.

      ‘You are a witch and I cannot resist you.’

      About the Author

      ISABELLE GODDARD was born into an army family and spent her childhood moving around the UK and abroad. Unsurprisingly it gave her itchy feet, and in her twenties she escaped from an unloved secretarial career to work as cabin crew and see the world.

      The arrival of marriage, children and cats meant a more settled life in the south of England, where she’s lived ever since. It also gave her the opportunity to go back to ‘school’ and eventually teach at university. Isabelle loves the nineteenth century, and grew up reading Georgette Heyer, so when she plucked up the courage to begin writing herself the novels had to be Regency romances.

       Previous novels by this author:

      REPROBATE LORD, RUNAWAY LADY

       THE EARL PLAYS WITH FIRE SOCIETY’S MOST SCANDALOUS RAKE

      Did you know that some of these novels are also available as eBooks? Visit www.millsandboon.co.uk

      Unmasking

      Miss Lacey

      Isabelle Goddard

       www.millsandboon.co.uk

      To Lily and Bluebell, my constant companions.

       Chapter One

      ‘Stand and deliver!’

      The command shattered the stillness of the autumn evening and bounced from tree to tree in a slowly diminishing echo. Even as he struggled awake, the door of the carriage was being wrenched opened.

      ‘Stand and deliver!’

      He was looking down the barrel of a duelling pistol. An odd choice of weapon, his mind registered, but fleetingly, for the pistol was ominously close and waving him to descend. He rose from the padded leather very slowly, the mists of sleep still clouding his vision. They were in a rare open space amidst the thick canopy of forest and a black cloaked-and-booted figure astride a chestnut horse filled the aperture. The moon was riding high and flooding the clearing, glinting across the gloss of the mare’s coat and lighting the silver braid of the man’s three-cornered hat. In its ghostly white gaze he saw that his attacker was unusually slight, hardly a match for the gruff voice issuing from behind a silk handkerchief. He calculated his chances of foiling this blatant piracy and decided they were good enough, despite the risk of the cocked pistol. He was carrying a substantial sum of money and had no wish to see it fall into the pockets of a gentleman of the road.

      The chestnut was becoming restive, bucking and prancing at the side of the carriage, the white blaze between its eyes shifting in and out of the moonlight. With luck the mare’s antics would distract its rider, for the one pistol must cover two men. He made as though to descend as he’d been ordered, but then at the last moment shot his arm forwards and grasped his assailant’s wrist in a punishing grip. The wrist, as he suspected, was as slender as the form and crushed beneath his iron grip. The pistol faltered, drooped and fell with a thud onto the turf. He looked at the eyes behind the mask and saw them dark with dismay. The arm was pulled violently and suddenly from his grasp and the sharp tear of cambric filled the silent glade as the attacker’s sleeve ripped apart. Then in a breath the highwayman had backed his horse, turned and was riding into the distance as though all the demons of hell were on his heels.

      And so they should be, he thought grimly. The scourge of ambush had all but disappeared from England’s roads but not, it seemed, from the deeps of Sussex. He picked up the discarded weapon and a scrap of lace which lay nearby, the remains of a torn ruffle, then looked closely at the abandoned pistol. It confirmed his earlier impression that it was a strange choice for a robbery. The gun was beautifully balanced, intricately decorated and evidently expensive. Hardly a toy for a highwayman!

      He slipped both pistol and lace into the capacious pocket of his travelling coat and called to his coachman.

      ‘It’s all right, Fielding, it’s quite safe to come down.’

      The man arrived at his side in seconds, breathing hard and looking downcast. ‘My lord, I had no choice but to stop.’ His voice quavered slightly. ‘He was threatening to shoot the horses—and then me.’

      ‘He was indeed a desperado.’ The tone was quietly ironic and there was a pause before his master continued, ‘Although my guess would be a local youth out on the spree or intent on winning a wager.’

      ‘I don’t know about that, my lord,’ Fielding puffed at the implication. ‘He looked the real thing to me.’

      ‘He would hardly win his wager if he had not.’

      ‘Whatever he was, he has cut the traces,’ the coachman remarked with something like a note of triumph.

      His master strode to the horses’ heads and retrieved the trailing leather. Before he had been jolted thoroughly awake, he remembered hearing in the muffled distance the jangle of harness.

      ‘An intelligent move for a callow youth.’

      ‘Yes, my lord, we’re good and stranded.’

      ‘You are stranded, Fielding,’ his employer corrected gently, as he unhooked the broken traces from one of the leaders. ‘I shall ride this expensive beast to the nearest inn and hire whatever transport they can offer.’

      The coachman sighed, but his master affected not to notice. ‘Tomorrow you will seek out the nearest saddler and arrange for the traces to be replaced. In the meantime we must find a home for the carriage and horses.’

      The coachman sighed again a little more loudly, and his master added in a kindly fashion, ‘As soon as I find a hostelry, I will give instructions for your rescue.’

      Lucinda rode at breakneck speed hunched low over the mare’s neck. She lost time in threading